


To Sleep, To Dream

by w0rdinista (Niamh_St_George)



Series: Elinora Cousland [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niamh_St_George/pseuds/w0rdinista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If her only nightmares had been about the Archdemon, that would have been fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep, To Dream

_The air was acrid with the stink of smoke as fire licked its way up the stone walls, eating anything in its path. As she ran through corridors and courtyards of the only home she'd ever known, screams filled her ears as did the far-off howls of the mabari in the kennels. The Cousland sword felt heavy and all-too real in her hand as she ran, her mother, clutching her bow as she matched Elinora step for step. She could not look at the faces of the fallen; there was no time to mourn them, barely time enough to get to the servants' quarters, and if not..._

No. Neither she nor her parents would fall this night. Howe would not get that satisfaction.

He would not.

Father's blood streaked and pooled on the cold stone floor.

No.

His pale face, contorted with pain.

No.

Mother, staying behind, defending Father to the last.

No.

Elinora awoke with a gasp, drawing in the cold night air greedily as she tried to banish the mental images from the forefront of her mind. Evidently if she wasn't having nightmares about archdemons, she was having nightmares about the fall of Castle Cousland. Alistair had mentioned something about controlling the dreams – a worthwhile endeavor if she ever planned to sleep again this age.

Moving quietly, she pushed back the flap of her tent and surveyed the camp. All was still, save for Alistair and Sten, the former relieving the latter for watch duty. Pulling a cloak from her pack, Elinora crawled out of the tent and stood, wrapping herself in its warmth. It was sheer folly to think she'd be getting any more sleep this night. With near-silent steps, she came up behind her fellow Grey Warden, standing sentry.

"Alistair?"

He started and turned sharply, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Maker's Blood, Elinora – I'm going to put a bell on you!" Alistair hissed in a whisper. Despite the melancholy her dreams had roused, she smiled at his discomfiture. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

"I can't sleep. I thought I might take a bit of a walk."

"Ah, yes. A walk," he drawled, shooting her a look. "Lovely idea, really. Going for a stroll in the pitch darkness, Darkspawn lurking behind every corner. Sounds positively refreshing. Why don't I come with, and we'll have a picnic?"

It hadn't seemed like that bad of an idea until he'd phrased it so eloquently, placing particular emphasis on the stupidity of such a venture. Frowning, she shook her head. "I need to do something. I can't sleep."

Alistair looked at her for a long while in the flickering warmth of the fire, and for an instant the gentle glow and crackle turned into the roaring furnace of flames from her dream. She hugged her arms around herself, hoping he hadn't noticed her slight flinch.

"More nightmares?" he asked, lowering his voice.

Elinora weighed her answer carefully. She despised artifice in any form, and yet blaming her sleeplessness on the archdemon was incredibly tempting. "Yes," she finally replied. "But it isn't what you're thinking."

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

Something sharp and hot felt as if it were lodged in the confines of her chest, making tighten painfully. She clenched her teeth tightly – all the better to control her trembling bottom lip – and looked down. Yes, more than anything she wanted to talk to someone who'd listen, who'd understand, who wouldn't judge her for such a display of weakness. She was the group leader, after all. She needed to be composed and clear-minded. Father had trusted her to be in charge of the castle in his absence. If she couldn't lead this rag-tag collection of rogues, warriors, and witches without having a complete emotional meltdown, she had no business being leading them to lunch.

"Elinora?" Alistair prompted, concern creeping into his voice. "Are you all right?"

When she looked up again, Alistair's image was blurry, clearing only when she blinked, and hot tears spilled past her lashes. Her companion's concern ratcheted up to near-panic as he cast around helplessly, his uncertainty obvious. He reminded her vaguely of Fergus, whenever Oriana's tears made any sort of appearance. This errant memory only served to make her chest tighten more painfully. She fisted her hands in the material of her cloak, her posture rigid.

"Oh, Sweet Andraste, don't cry. I promise I'll never tease you about your appetite again, if you'll just... not cry. All right?"

She let out a half-choked laugh, which only served to make more tears fall.

Alistair ducked his head slightly to meet her downcast eyes. "In case it might have escaped your notice, this is _not_ you not-crying. Just so you know."

Elinora rubbed hastily at her face. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. We have too much at stake now. And there's nothing to be gained by weeping."

"You know, I don't recall you saying that to me."

Sniffling slightly, Elinora looked up. He was closer than she had expected him to be, watching her intently; despite the hot tightness in her chest, somewhere beneath it all, her heart tripped. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you said nothing like that to me that night you asked me about Duncan."

"That was different."

Alistair only arched an eyebrow at her. "Different, is it? All right, then. How, exactly, would you say it's different?"

"Because too many people are looking to me to make the right decisions, to lead them, to do what needs to be done. They won't have faith in me if I'm falling apart."

"I do."

Those two simple words made the air leave her lungs in a rush. "You... do?"

"I don't envy you some of the choices you've had to make. And, okay, while I may not agree with you all the time—"

"Wait, what?"

"Uh, hello? Zevran? My point is, you make the hard decisions, and you shoulder the repercussions. I may think your choice to adopt the assassin was half-cracked, but that doesn't mean I question your leadership." He reached out and gave her forearm a gentle squeeze. "So. If you ever want to talk about it with a friend, I'm here."

Elinora looked down at Alistair's hand, resting lightly against the rough wool of her sleeve. His warmth soaked through to her skin, and the tightness in her chest slowly unwound. She took a shuddering breath and let it out, slowly. Taking a deeper, steadier breath, she told him everything. She told him of Howe's treachery, of watching helplessly as her only home was taken from her in flame and violence, and of having no choice but to leave her mother and mortally wounded father behind.

The silence that followed her tale was vast.

"I'm sorry," Alistair finally managed. "I had no idea when you arrived at Ostagar that..."

"How could you have known? It had only just happened. The King himself had no idea."

"Yes, but... Duncan might have told me ahead of time. He sent word you were coming, after all."

The last Cousland looked up, then, a small, wan smile at her lips. "Ah, but then you might've treated me differently."

"All right, as the Senior Grey Warden here, I am forbidding you from throwing my words back at me ever again. Are we quite clear?"

Elinora's smile grew less wan. "Thank you, Alistair. For listening. You were right – it is good to talk about this with a friend." She leaned up and brushed a chaste kiss across his cheek. Elinora heard his sharp intake of breath at the same moment something quickened in her blood and she took a hasty, clumsy step back as warmth flooded her cheeks that had nothing to do with the roaring campfire.

Alistair cleared his throat. "You ought to get some sleep. We've a long day tomorrow." His words sounded more than slightly husky.

The abrupt subject change was more than welcome. Elinora swallowed hard and nodded, turning and making her way back to her tent, hoping he couldn't see the fiery blush that refused to leave her cheeks. "Yes. And you know if we're not on the road by daybreak, Sten will be grouchy," she added over her shoulder.

Alistair snorted. "I'm impressed you can tell when he's _not_ grouchy."

"That's why I'm the leader."


End file.
